


Square

by MathClassWarfare, ViciousSHADi



Series: We’ve Got Plenty of Time [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Art, Canon Related, Established Relationship, Headcanon, M/M, Noctis Lucis Caelum Lives, Older Noctis Lucis Caelum, Older Noctis Week, Older Prompto Argentum, Older Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, POV Noctis Lucis Caelum, Post-Canon, Resurrection, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 03:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousSHADi/pseuds/ViciousSHADi
Summary: Noctis quit smoking back in high school. Since then, he's lost his home, he's gotten sucked into alternate dimensions, and he died. After all that, doesn’t he deserve just one more cigarette?





	Square

**Author's Note:**

> For Older Noctis Week Day 3: Homecoming / Old habits. 
> 
> I am absolutely thrilled to collaborate with [Shadi](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi), the reigning monarch of Beardy Noct. Her fantastic art for this is [here](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi/status/1176904429108416512?s=20) and embedded in the fic, below.
> 
> (And FYI, this is set in my post-game headcanon where Noctis comes back from the dead and lives incognito, using the name Nemo. You can read all about in this series.)

There’s a clatter as Umbra pushes the water bowl into the corner, lapping up the very last drops. Noctis pulls his page off the letterpress and sets it aside to dry. He wipes sticky bangs out of his eyes and looks at the panting dog. It’s a hot summer, and the oscillating fan isn’t doing much of anything in the stuffy basement room.

“Okay, bud. Let’s go home.”

Upstairs in the bookstore, a few people are browsing the shelves. Steph, the teenager who works there on weekends, is sitting on the floor behind the register—locs wrapped up and away from their neck and a fan pointed directly at their face as they sort through new arrivals.

“Hey,” Noctis says, leaning over the counter. “Did Cal take off?”

“Nah, he’s out back. Smoking.” They shudder and make a disgusted face.

“Cool. See ya’.”

“Bye.” Steph gives Noctis a wave as he passes through the propped-open door.

He finds his friend behind the shop, slouching in the shade along the wall. 

When Noctis approaches, Cal holds up a box of Malboro cigarettes and exclaims, “Nemo! Look what they have at the corner store!”

“No shit?! I haven’t seen those in years.”

Malboros used to be his brand. The illustration on the packaging had looked a lot like Li’l Malbuddy, and he’s always had a thing for that stinky monster. That’s how they’d get you, back then. Now, it’s illegal for tobacco companies to use cartoons.

Cal flips back the lid and shoves the box at him. “Want one?”

Noctis starts to decline, but changes his mind. Why not? He hasn’t smoked a cigarette in almost 15 years. That must be long enough. He’s seen _Prompto_ smoking more recently than that. 

_He can’t say shit_, Noctis thinks, lighting up. But worry flutters in his stomach, alongside the rush of nicotine. 

He feels lightheaded and leans back against the wall for balance, exhaling a stream of smoke. He thinks about the two of them up on the roof of the school—a brief escape from the homecoming dance and all those assholes trying to impress him while they posed for photos. Everybody acted like Prompto wasn’t even there, but to Noctis, he was the only one who mattered. Up on the roof, they laughed about the DJ’s questionable choices and hid the evidence of their rebellion under a tangle of cables. He smiles, and takes another drag.

When he gets home, Noctis brushes his teeth and changes his shirt. It’s drenched with sweat, after all. He may as well do the laundry before Prompto gets back from work. He’ll be so impressed.

⁂

They’re hanging out with Prompto’s friend Alice at an indie-rock concert. The venue recently reopened, so it’s been getting a lot of buzz—just the kind of place Noctis doesn’t like to be on a Saturday night. He’d rather be home with the dog.

He’s spent the evening alternating between straining to hear when Prompto tries to include him in the conversation and slinking back to the edge of the group because he doesn’t actually care. Alice doesn’t say much to him, as Prompto’s ‘boyfriend’ Nemo. This is funny because she’s always messaging him as his pseudonym, Mod Dweeb. She writes favorable reviews, regularly publishes the poetry he emails her, and she’s great about spreading the word about his last-minute readings. She also knows everybody and talks a lot, which is why she can never learn the poet’s secret identity.

It’s crowded, which always makes Noctis uneasy, and the music has been boring and bad all night. While his commentary manages to get a couple of laughs out of Prompto, he can’t convince him to step away. The drummer in this group is dating one of his co-workers at The Metor, and Prompto thinks it would be rude to not stand there listening and clapping between songs. 

Noctis gives him a peck on the cheek, then turns to press through the mass of bodies until he’s finally out the door. On the sidewalk and spilling into the street, people are standing in little clusters, talking and smoking and cooling off. He wonders where they all came from. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since the city was nearly empty, in the early stages of rebuilding after the Dawn.

There’s a guy standing nearby with huge biceps. Tattooed on one of them is Noctis’s face—an idealized, much-younger version of it—framed in the rays of a bright orange and yellow sun. Noctis winces and looks away from the image. It’s awkward to see memorials about himself. It makes him feel guilty. 

He walks along the wall a few paces and catches the eye of one of the smokers. He’s thinking about asking to bum a cigarette but feeling too shy, when she holds one out to him.

He takes it with a small smile. “Thanks.” 

“Lighter?”

He nods.

It’s the old-fashioned kind—engraved metal, with the outline of a flower.

“I don’t smoke,” he explains, handing the lighter back.

She laughs and drops it in the pocket of her jacket. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

When he goes back inside, he buys a beer from the front bar and swishes the first sip around in his mouth. It’s much less unpleasant near the door. He waits until his drink is finished and there’s a break between bands before rejoining the throng. 

When Noctis finds him, Prompto asks, “Where’d you go?”

“Outside,” he replies, wrapping his arms around his best friend and squeezing him tight.

“You stink,” Prompto mumbles into his shoulder. 

Noctis shrugs. “Sorry.”

The crowd cheers as the next band takes the stage. They have a ukulele. Noctis groans, and Prompto swats at him, stifling a laugh.

He escapes to smoke twice more before the night is over.

⁂

Noctis—well, Mod Dweeb—has a reading at the store. He’s bringing some brand new stuff, and he’s nervous about it. Prompto and Cal keep telling him it’s good, and he does like it, but he still can’t shake the feeling that people are going to hate it.

It doesn’t help that Prompto has a work thing and can’t go. It also doesn’t help that his notifications are blowing up. It’s looking like a lot of people are going to be there, including an editor with the poetry journal he actually likes. 

On his way over, he passes the corner store. The door is open—inviting him in. He may as well pop inside to buy a Jetty’s. While he’s there, he may as well grab a box of Malboros. A cigarette could help him chill out. 

It’s not a big deal. It’s not like he’s smoking every day.

⁂

_“Whatthefuck?”_ Prompto waves a cigarette box in the air and shouts across the apartment. “You’re _smoking_ now?”

On the couch, Noctis sits up and squints at Prompto. He’s not sure how he should feel about his partner digging around in his jacket pockets.

“I was looking for a tissue,” Prompto explains, losing the righteous indignation. “Thought you had some.” He tosses the box on an end-table.

Noctis pulls a tissue-packet out of his back pocket and hands it to Prompto.

“Thanks,” he says, plopping down next to Noctis and blowing his nose.

“Yeah, I kinda got back into without meaning to.” Noctis picks up the box and flips the lid open, then closes it again.

“Well. Do what you want, I guess,” Prompto sighs. “But—Gross.”

“Listen,” Noctis says, leaning into him, “I was just gonna finish this pack and that’s it. I don’t need to buy any more.”

This is true, and there aren’t many left.

“Okay.” Prompto starts to smile. “Let me help you finish ‘em then.” 

_“What?!”_ Noctis cannot believe what he’s hearing. 

Prompto shrugs and snatches the box. Then he pushes the window open as far as it will go, so they can crawl over the back of the couch and out onto the fire escape. 

They sit cross-legged, knees bumping together, and blow their smoke out into the chilly night air. Umbra stands on the couch and stares at them with a hilarious intensity. 

“He’s judging us,” Prompto laughs.

It feels like they’re teenagers again, except this time, when Noctis has the impulse to lean in and kiss his best friend, he can give in completely. 

_“Huh . . .”_ Prompto says when they part. “It’s way less gross when my mouth already tastes like ass.”

Noctis scrunches up his face and kisses Prompto again, before taking his last drag. 

He figures that should do for another 15 years.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to fandom friends, especially [@moonwaif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwaif/pseuds/moonwaif) for the help getting my Older Noctis Week stuff ready to go.
> 
> P.S. 'Mod Dweeb' is a Dune reference. I have a lot of feelings about Noctis and Paul Atreides okay?


End file.
